


I Am Not A Witch

by Bonemarroww



Series: (Unknown) Movies AUs [1]
Category: Silence (2016)
Genre: And kinda sad, Angst, Basically it's a lot of superstition, Canonically Black Original Character, F/M, I Am Not A Witch!AU, No one has ever watched this movie but me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 11:58:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonemarroww/pseuds/Bonemarroww
Summary: "I don't want to be a witch anymore."Father Ramiro had warned him not to talk to the witches. They were temptations sent by the Devil; that God had mercy on them and let them live by the ribbon didn’t mean God’s sons should fraternize with them.But how could the priest stay away, when his little witch was feeling such sorrow?[AU based on the movie I Am Not A Witch (2017)]





	I Am Not A Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by the movie I Am Not A Witch (2017), which is basically unknown but really inspiring.  
> The movie is about a 9-year-old Zambian girl, who is accused of witchcraft by her village and sentenced to live among “witches” in a witch camp, some kind of work camp, as well as touristic attraction for Europeans. To make sure the witches don’t escape the camp, they are bound to a reel with a white ribbon. Superstition has it they can either accept to live captive as witches, or cut the ribbon, and be cursed and turned into goats…

“I don’t want to be a witch anymore.”

The girl’s whisper barely reached the priest’s ears. Worry filled his heart, as he crouched next to the young woman. So very young –surely she hadn’t seen more than sixteen winters. Her limbs were dark and thin, as she was sitting with her knees tucked into her arms, her face buried in them.

Father Francisco extended his arm to touch her shoulder in sign of comfort, and felt it tremble slightly. His soft voice spoke her name quietly, so Father Ramiro wouldn’t hear him talk to the witch.

“I know it’s hard, but we should thank the Lord for offering you a chance to live in peace…”

Far from comforting her, his words seemed to upset her even more, and she shook his hand off her. The priest pretended it didn’t hurt him deep inside, but his hand ached to grab hers, to take her securely in his arms, to keep her close and chase her sorrow away. Instead of even brushing her skin, Father Francisco grabbed his rosary, sending a small prayer to the Lord, asking forgiveness for his sins.

Father Ramiro had warned him not to talk to the witches. They were temptations sent by the Devil; that God had mercy on them and let them live by the ribbon didn’t mean God’s sons should fraternize with them.

But how could the priest stay away, when his little witch was feeling such sorrow?

“Father Francisco, does He love me as well?” the broken voice of the young woman cut deep in his heart; but he wouldn’t shed tears.

Never, not even for the sweet witch he was so fond of, would he break his vows. Not even on the nights when he felt so alone, not even when he craved companionship, just as much as she did. The Lord was his only love, and so would He be for the rest of the priest’s life.

“You know He does.” The man answered with all the tenderness he could muster.

Her shoulders trembled, and only when she lifted her head, the priest noticed she had wrapped a part of her ribbon as a blindfold around her eyes.

“Are you crying?”

The witch shook her head in denial, but the white, dampened fabric said otherwise.

“Why does God hate me so much?” she finally blew up. “I never asked to be a witch. What did it take for me to become one? A measly dream some peasant had? And suddenly – the trials, the witch camp and the ribbon… Lord, how I hate this bloody ribbon!” her tears got the better of her voice.

The man of God flinched at the name of the Lord, and his hand flew to try and appease her, but she wouldn’t have any of it. Her hands blindly batted his away, before she unwrapped the cloth from her reddened eyes. It fell back behind her, right next to the wooden constraint it was attached to. If one followed the white trail of the ribbon, one would find the reel at the camp where Father Ramiro had decided to settle for the night.

“The reel is the witch’s freedom, as God intended in His mercy.”

Another tear rolled down her cheek, and the priest immediately hated himself for repeating what she had probably heard thousands of times since she had been sentenced to the reel.

“Forty feet of freedom, Father Francisco, does this seem fair to you?”

The witch closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing, but more tears came out of her eyes instead, and a shiver shook her entire body.

“Do you know how old I was, when Father Ramiro tucked me in that hut, and told me how I could either accept the ribbon and live as a captive, or cut it and be turned into a goat?”

At this point, she opened her eyes again; her brown, nearly black eyes glowing with pain and sadness. It was the man’s turn to close his own eyes –one more second lost in these pools of black gold and he would succumb. To what exactly, he knew not; but as much as this ache in his heart screamed he should let go, he knew it was wrong.

“You were young.” He whispered, unable to look at her in the eyes.

“I was nine years old, Father.”

A few minutes followed her sour statement, and soon the priest heard Father Ramiro call him for their nightly prayers. As he stood up, still not looking at the witch and his heart heavy between his ribs, the young woman called out to him once more, her voice sounding oddly calm.

“Father Francisco, do you love me?”

The man stood unmoving for a second, before taking a long inspiration. He hesitated to play on the words, to quote how men of God loved all of God’s children; but eventually, he simply shook his head and walked away.

“God is my only love.”

Never had the white trail to the camp felt so empty and sad; and as Father Francisco kneeled next to Father Ramiro, regret nearly suffocating, he couldn’t see the good in his action.

.

.

The next morning, a few minutes after dawn, a curious flapping sound waked the priest. The tent was shaken by what seemed to be a strong wind. Father Ramiro’s light snores indicated he was the first awaken; as usual. The sad priest sat up in his bed. Usually, he wouldn’t try to go back to sleep; instead reciting his morning prayers and going out to talk to the young witch –another early bird.

This day, he didn’t feel like speaking to her. Or rather, the guilt from his words the day before was making him hesitant as to how he should approach her. Maybe he should apologize first. Would she listen to him? He knew he couldn’t ever allow himself to welcome her love; but the months he had slept in her company made him crave her friendship. And so, he would pray twice as much for his soul; and maybe for hers, as well.

When the annoying flapping sound and his own restlessness finally defeated his doubts and the priest got out of the tent, and eerie scene was waiting for him.

In the sky, tossed around every other way by the raging wind, was floating a white, torn ribbon, pulling hard against its reel, as if trying to fly away. 

.

_**A/N :** Here are the reels and ribbons, if you had trouble picturing it!_

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